Page 13 of Broken Highway (Cult Boys #1)

NOAH

I groan into my pillow as my head thumps.

Mama always said the best cure for a headache was sex.

Heard her say it to a friend at such a young age that I once told a teacher she should have sex to get rid of her headache.

That was before I knew what the birds and bees were.

Suffice to say. Mama wasn’t too happy that day.

Rolled into the school with a cigarette tucked behind her ear that was barely covered by the curls of a fresh perm.

She dragged me out of that place, pulled down my pants, and beat my ass in the backseat of the car.

And that’s what I’d consider a happy childhood memory. After that, things got so much worse.

I roll over in bed into a puddle of my own sweat.

Everything is drenched—my body, the sheets, and the pillow.

I throw the covers off me, but it doesn’t do jackshit to alleviate the heat.

As for Seven, he’s nowhere to be seen. Could be lounging by the pool again.

Could be sucking some guy off in a car in the parking lot. Could be a hundred miles away by now.

I squint to get a better look at the air conditioner.

The lights are all lit up and the temperature is set to a cool 68 degrees, but not a hint of coolness is coming from the vents.

In fact, with temperatures this high, I’d almost bet everything I own that the fucking outdated piece of shit is blowing out heat.

It’s long past its prime, like that air conditioner in The Brave Little Toaster.

The alarm clock claims it’s a little past one, but that can’t be right. That’d be the earliest I’ve woken up in months, but my body probably woke itself up to avoid a heat stroke while I slept. My subconscious is in survival mode while my consciousness is in a never-ending crash out.

I sit up in bed and make a quick call to the front desk using the rotary phone on the nightstand.

The front desk attendant is absolutely no help.

First, he says the only thing he can do is move us into another room, but no chance in hell I’m sticking around for another night.

After some berating, he relents and says someone will be over to fix the unit shortly, but I’ll most likely be gone by then.

I’ve already spent two nights in the same place and I’m itching to drive.

It’s one of only two things that quell my mind.

I stand up and make my way to the window to pull back the curtains. There are a few families gathered in the pool, but Seven is nowhere to be seen. I glance over at the nightstand again, and my heart skips a beat and then begins to pound relentlessly. Seven isn’t the only thing missing.

So are my keys.

And my wallet.

I make a beeline for the safe, input the code, and exhale in relief to see my duffel bag is still there.

The doorknob turns.

My knees crack as I rise to stand.

Seven walks through the door with ease and I realize that not only did he steal my car, but he also didn’t lock the front door when he left. Meaning anyone could’ve come in here and robbed me while I slept.

His white tee clings to his sweaty chest, and his hair is slicked back.

I point squarely at his greaser-looking ass. “You’re fucking dead.”

He carries a brown paper bag in one hand and tosses my keys with the other. My reflexes are just quick enough that I’m able to catch them by hunching forward. I toss them onto the dresser beside me.

He sits the brown paper bag on the bed and fans himself. “Somehow, it’s even hotter in here than out there.”

I ogle the keys on the dresser and contemplate picking them back up again. Contemplate using them to murder this sarcastic, intrusive, pretty boy standing in front of me.

He points in the very direction I’m looking. “If you’re pissed that I drove your car, you don’t need to be mad. I couldn’t get the damn thing to reverse.”

I breathe a sigh of relief, but his confession doesn’t do much to quell my anger that he even attempted to steal my car. His incompetence is beside the point and isn’t permissible in my court of law.

“There was a bunch of screeching and grinding, so I threw my hands up and said, I don’t think this is a good idea. And then I just decided to walk.”

“Did you tear out the clutch when you were cosplaying a criminal?” I shake my head. “Oh, I remember. You’re not cosplaying a criminal. You are a criminal. How could I forget?”

“For someone always saying I’m too loud, I’d really appreciate you lowering your voice when saying such slanderous things.”

I’m too hot and too tired to argue the definition of slander with him. “Where’s my wallet?”

“On the sink in the bathroom, where you left it last night.”

I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of apologizing for my accusations, so I change the subject by pointing to the brown bag. “What’d you get?”

He leans over the bed and searches through the bag, tossing out the contents as he explains what they are. “Ibuprofen, crackers, string cheese that’s spoiled already, a bottle of lube.” He turns to me with a box in his hand. “A pack of magnum condoms because that dick is a monster.”

It’s impossible to hide my growing excitement when I’m wearing nothing but boxer shorts. “I thought your asshole was a no-no square.”

“I’m not opposed to taking a dick in the rear, but the opportunity has never presented itself because I have a few rules, and the first is that I don’t fuck strangers.” He tosses the box onto the bed. “Want to see what else I bought?”

“That bag of yours looks pretty empty.”

“It’s not in the bag.” He pulls the shirt over his head, revealing a slicked chest with abs that glisten and v-lines angled sharply into his jeans. Chews into his lower lip. Digs underneath the waistline of his jeans on the side and snaps a black string into view. “I’m wearing them.”

I’m not the type of guy to hide from what I want sexually.

Ever since I freed myself from Kevin’s grasp, I’ve bedded who I wanted when I wanted.

I’ve wanted Seven from the moment I laid eyes on him but haven’t been able to pull the trigger.

He’s a loaded gun who reminds me of who I could have been in another life.

Reminds me of the boy Kevin snuffed out when he caught wind I was about to run.

I never stay for long.

I come, and then I’m gone.

And maybe I’m not fucking done with him yet. I’m not ready to cut the cord.

But I’ll cross that bridge after I burn it.

“Get over here,” I say and for once in his fucking life, he does as he’s told. “Good boy.”

I grab him by the stomach and turn him in a quick circle so that my body cradles his.

Sticky skin on sticky skin. I run a path down the stretch of hard abs and dig underneath, cupping his cock and balls that are held in place by the pouch of the thong.

He hardens beneath my touch. Not a full erection, but enough to fill the pouch.

“I think…” He chokes on a moan as I continue to massage him through the thin fabric. “I think we should wait until the air conditioner is fixed. Heat stroke is a real concern.”

I angle my lips against his ear as I unzip his jeans with my free hand. “I think you should shut up.”

I release him from my grip, drop to my knees, and yank his jeans down his hips.

His ass bounces, a string thong disappearing between the crack.

Smooth. Round. Hairless. My fingers crawl underneath the fabric on either side of his hips and I give them a tug upward, admiring the way his ass pushes back.

I trace my tongue over the curve of his ass, wetting a trail to the inner cheek.

With one hand, I move the string to the right and spread his cheeks with the other.

My cock throbs and shifts in place, somehow finding an escape through the slit in the front of my boxers.

I was born to give. There’s something about a hole that drives me absolutely fucking feral.

Makes the world spin until I can’t make sense of anything.

Makes me lose control—and I fucking hate losing control.

Makes me realize I was born to give because there’s simply no comparison between taking a cock and giving it.

Kevin turned me into a bottom because with him, I didn’t have a choice.

I found my sexual joy first in porn and then in the holes of others whenever he’d go out of town.

Out here on the road, I’ve taken what I can get.

Until Seven came along.

He hunches over slightly when my tongue taps against his opening, and then he collapses onto the mattress when I punch my way in.

The taste is hard to explain. Doesn’t taste like one would expect if they’ve never eaten an ass before.

Tastes like sin, like the price for indulging excludes me from reaching the gates of heaven.

Tastes like forbidden fruit. Combined with the musk of sweat, it’s a potent combination that makes me leak like a kinked watering hose.

Seven squirms as I take my time exploring him. Groans with his head tilted to the side, catching whatever breath he can. His knees drive forward, knocking against the frame of the bed. It’s like he’s trying to get away from me, but we both know that’s not what’s happening here.

I lean back, giving him a moment to collect himself.

But when has he ever been one to collect himself?

He arches his back and pushes his ass out, begging for my tongue again. Mr. No-No Square is hungry to be filled, and my tongue isn’t going to satisfy him the way he craves. I thumb over his hole and massage it in slow circles. He claws into the sheets, bunching the fabric between his fingers.

I part his cheeks with both hands, collect a pool of spit in the back of my throat and hawk it forward. It lands with a splat right over his opening, wetting him. Lubing him. I circle a finger over the pinkness, wetting my finger enough to push in gently.